


Aware

by devylish



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Character of Color
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devylish/pseuds/devylish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Bonnie/Damon. Stefan and Elena are officially off the market, and suddenly, Bonnie finds herself having the strangest feelings for the elder Salvatore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN unbeta'd AN2 First TVD fic

She wasn't quite certain how she ended up standing in his arms.

Well, actually, she did know.

She was standing in his arms because she couldn't say 'no'. Her! ... Unable to say 'no'! To Damon!

Oh, for the other members of her twisted Mystic Falls group of friends, she was a soft touch; saying yes to them for everything from: baking cookies, to killing rogue Vampire Hunters. But it wasn't one of her friends that she'd failed to say no to this time; it was Damon. Damon!

She usually pretty much _started_ every conversation with him with the word 'no'.

_So what the hell happened tonight?_

Tonight, she'd felt sorry for him.

Sorry for the impassioned, outspoken, sometimes brutal Damon Salvatore.

_Why_?

Because tonight Elena and Stefan had gotten married... And Damon had stood behind his brother as he wed the woman they had both been obsessed over for years.

She watched Damon stand next to Stefan as Elena floated down the aisle towards him - a vision in white silk. She watched him as stand next to Stefan and witness Elena: her face bright, her lips smiling, her eyes beaming as she said 'I Do' to the man she loved.

Damon had amazingly, remained quiet and respectful throughout the whole ceremony; keeping his eyes, oddly enough, peeled on Bonnie during the majority of the ceremony... only sparing a glance at Elena as she stood on her tip toes to kiss her groom.

Since his eyes were drilled in on her as the prayer, and vows were read, and because **she** wasn't quite certain that he wouldn't try to pull some sort of hail mary 'stop the wedding' stunt, she kept her eyes equally trained on him.

She watched his lips tighten as the vows were exchanged. She watched him take a shallow breath when Stefan and Elena kissed. She watched his eyes shutter when the clergyman introduced 'Mr. and Mrs. Stefan and Elena Salvatore' to the wedding guests.

She saw it all.

And when the wedding dinner was done, and the DJ opened the dance floor to the reception guests - playing a long, smushy, 'so in love' ballad - and Damon raised a brow in her direction, nodding his head towards the floor – she nodded her head in agreement.

She simply couldn't make herself say no to him when she knew what he'd just been through.

She only hesitated for a half a second when he stood up and extended his hand to her, and then she pushed herself up out of her seat and placed her hand inside of his.

And then, it was just the two of them.

In one another's arms.

Thigh to thigh, torso to torso, hand to hand; her head resting lightly against his shoulder.

()

And yeah, that was how she ended up standing in Damon's arms with her heart beating in the most peculiar way.

It wasn't beating overly quickly, or even particularly loudly. But she _could_ hear it beating. Beating in time to Damon's. And it occurred to her that her heart shouldn't beat in time with his. She shouldn't be as comfortable... as deliciously relaxed in his arms. Her heart shouldn't be so 'at peace' next to his.

He was humming, off tune of course, to the slow song that was playing... and her body was warm - wonderfully warm - pressed against his. And she was thinking... thinking that it didn't feel horrible to be this close to him.

She was thinking that it wasn't horrible to be this close to him, and she was also thinking that he - at this moment - didn't feel like her enemy. He didn't even feel especially like a frenemey. He just felt like... like a man.

Next to her...

Close to her...

She breathed in and relaxed into his scent. He smelled of sandalwood, and scotch, and that cologne that he always wore. And it suddenly struck her that she was _aware_ of his scent. That she ' _knew'_ it. _When the hell had she learned Damon's scent?_

She reminded herself that she didn't want to know his scent... and yet... here she was… in his arms, her head against his shoulder... 'knowing' him.

And yeah, the scary part was that she knew _more_ than his scent. She knew his height - and that her head would fit exactly where it was - just between his pec and shoulder.

And she knew his sounds; the sound of his heart beating... the sound of his body breathing -rising and falling - against her frame. And she _knew_ the feel of his hands... his fingers... manicured and callused at the same time... wrapped around her own, smaller hands.

_How the hell did she know these things?_

_And why?_

_Why did she know him this way?_

He wasn't her friend.

He wasn't her anything.

And yet... he **was** someone she _knew_.

She wracked her brain to see if she could recall Stefan's scent... or if she could imagine where her head would rest against _his_ body if they were to dance together.

She tried to think about Matt and his heartbeat… his breathing... to pull the memory of those sounds to the forefront of her brain.

But she couldn't. They weren't buried inside her.

They weren't a part of her.

Damon was.

She pulled away from him just before the song ended... refusing to look up at him. Refusing to allow her self to finish the song; if she finished the dance in his arms, she knew she'd have another memory indelibly entered into her psyche... a memory that she didn't want to have. A memory that wasn't of him hurting her, or hurting those she loved... a memory that carved out a spot inside of her... a spot that purely set aside for Damon. The Damon who killed and raged and... and was so **loyal** to those he loved.

She wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that kind of love.

Of that kind of intensity. Just for once in her life.

Would she burn beneath it? Or would she blossom?

She backed away, her eyes focused on the floor. She parted her lips and gathered her breath, "I... I need some air."

_She needed to escape his scent. To escape his sounds. Escape his touch._

And with those words she fled from him in as dignified a manner as she could, heading toward the balcony just off of the hall where the reception was being held.

"Bonnie?"

She heard him calling after her but she ignored him. She needed to rally her senses back around her and to get her head screwed back on straight.

Stepping onto the balcony she scolded herself. _Bonnie it's Damon. Damon the killer. Damon the hothead. Damon 'the one who's in love with one of your best friends'. What the hell are you doing? Why the hell are you suddenly cataloging his scent, his body, his breath? You hate him. He's your enemy... or at the very least, he's the least suitable person for you to suddenly have a jones for!_

Her brain scampered around trying to find a reason for her sudden hyper-awareness of one Damon Salvatore.

_Spell? Could someone have placed a spell on her?_ It was possible.

But why? What advantage would anyone find in having her suddenly have… feelings - or whatever it was she was experiencing - for her 'not friend' Damon?

She couldn't think of any benefits... unless the goal was purely to torture her.

She hugged her arms to her body. If torture was their endgame... they were succeeding. Brilliantly.

So a spell was possible, but not likely – driving her batty by confusing her about how she truly felt about Damon didn't seem like a strong motive. So what else could explain what had happened on the dance floor? What else?

Something in the back of her head niggled at her.

**_He's free now. He's free from Elena. She's married to Stefan, so Damon's hopes have been – more or less crushed._ **

She responded to the niggling thought. _And? So what if he's finally free of his delusion of the two of them getting together._

_**Well that means you're free too. Free of the possibility of his being with Elena. You wouldn't be transgressing on your best friend's territory.** _ _Oh please, it's not like Elena and I were having a pissing contest over Damon!_ _**No... it never truly reached the level of a pissing contest, but that's because you were consistently too nice; constantly stepping aside and letting her have first dibs on him.**_

_I wasn't -_

**_You were... You never even put your hat in the ring to make a try for him... all because you're not the type to steal (or try and steal) someone that you think your best friend is drooling over. And let's be frank... Elena was drooling over Damon for quite a while there._ **

_He's kind of drool-worthy._ She mentally slapped her hand over her mouth. _Okay this is just wrong!_

Her inner self chuckled _. **Think about it. Elena's married. Damon can't have her. Damon is therefore free. Finally free and clear**._

_They could still have an -_

**_They won't. You know they won't._** Her psyche paused... **_I don't know if Damon would hold back just because Elena's married – he's pretty single minded, and when he wants something, he wants it 'til the end - but Elena has made her final decision and she won't look at Damon again..._**

_Well even if they're never going to touch or look at one another again, that still doesn't explain why I'm suddenly,_ she shuddered before saying the word, _'drooling' over him._

**_Oh please... you've always drooled over him. You would have to be blind not to admit he's hot... blistering hot._ **

_Well yes, but..._

**_And he's loyal. No matter his other faults... when this man loves... he loves deeply._ **

_Yes, but..._

**_Think about the fights... the yelling... the bantering the two of you have constantly done._ **

_Yes..._

**_Foreplay._ **

_NO!_

_**YES**!_

_Dammit... no!_

Her mind was silent... letting her try and corral the thoughts that had been traipsing through her head.

After a few seconds the imp on her left shoulder sing-songed in her head: **_Go after him now... now before he leaves Mystic Falls, or before he finds someone else who he_ _thinks_ _is his soul mate. Show him... tell him... make him see that you're the one he's been looking for all of these years._**

_I don't want him._

_**Liar**._

_Well even if I did want him... and I don't… I shouldn't have him. Just because we want something doesn't mean it's good for us... or that we should just give in and have it. Sugar is delightful to eat, but it doesn't do great things to our hips._

**_Betcha Damon could do some great things to your hips._ **

She flushed pink as she stood in the darkened corner of the balcony.

"What kind of naughty thoughts are you having out here Bennett?"

She spun around to find the object of her rabid thoughts standing a few feet behind her.


	2. Distraction

_Who the hell invites their ex to their wedding?!_   He sipped at the scotch he'd poured from his flask into an empty champagne flute.  His eyes scanned the reception hall, taking in the revelry, the joy... the fucking happiness. 

 

He hated the smell of all of it.

 

And yeah, happiness had a smell.  It smelled like jasmine, and vanilla, and... and... his eyes lit on Bonnie Bennett.  Cinnnamon.  Happiness definitely smelled like cinnamon.

 

He tore his eyes away from the witch's smiling countenance – she was laughing at something Matt had said.

 

_Fucking happiness._

 

He turned his eyes toward the bride and groom who, now that the meal was done, were making their way around the room, chatting and laughing with their guests. 

 

He wanted to puke.  But - taking another sip of his scotch - he'd take getting drunk instead.

 

He'd thought Stefan and Elena were joking when they'd invited him to stand up in their wedding.  'You're my only brother.'  'It wouldn't be the same without you'....

 

Yeah, right.  He was now convinced that Elena and Stefan were far more into sadism than he'd _ever_ been accused of being.  Inflicting pain on him was really the only logical explanation for them to invite him to be the best man in their wedding.  Sadism was the only reason he could think of for them to make him stand behind Stefan and watch Elena walk down the aisle, glowing – fucking glowing – as she looked at her man....

 

Yeah... they were sadistic bastards... both of them.

 

He'd been tempted, for a few seconds during the ceremony, to reach around Stefan and snap Elena's pretty, little, smiling neck.  And honestly, the only thing that had stopped him from giving in to that temptation was focusing on something else. And the something else he'd focused on?  Bonnie Bennett.  He'd felt the witch's eyes on him throughout the ceremony... looking at him – silently threatening – he assumed, to fry his brain if he stepped even slightly out of line.

 

Looking at her slender, yet decidedly female figure in the purple dress that Elena had given her bridesmaids, he wondered if she ever looked at him without judgment.

 

Her eyes caught his again.

 

_No.  He was pretty certain she had never looked at him and not judged him._

 

()

 

Elena's laughter rang out over the music and the chatter that filled the hall.  It cut into his gut, twisting and turning.

 

Did he begrudge her and Stefan their happiness?  _No_.

 

Well, _maybe_.

 

He wanted Stefan to be happy, and he even wanted Elena to be happy, but what killed him... what truly ate at his insides, was the fact that once again, everyone around him was so fucking, goddamn happy, and he was alone.

 

Again. 

 

All alone. 

 

He realized he'd done some fucked up things in his life/unlife.  But did he truly deserve no happiness?

 

()

 

He threw back the last of the scotch and looked around the room for a distraction.  He'd take any kind of distraction.  Madness, mayhem..., maiming.

 

His eyes once again fell on Bonnie.

 

The witch was normally good for a distraction; her tongue was sharper than any tongue he'd run into in years.  Maybe he could engage her in some barbed banter. 

 

He groaned as he stood up and watched her smile up at Matt again.  At the very least, maybe he could convince her to dance.  It wasn't perhaps the level of distraction that he had been looking for, but it would do.  That is, if he could convince her to get past her distaste of him long enough to dance with him.

 

She was seated several feet away from him when he finally managed to catch her eye.  He raised his brow and nodded his head towards the floor; more than a little bit prepared for her to laugh at him... or zap him with her vessel bursting juju.

 

Color him surprised when she simply nodded her head in acquiescence.

 

As he held his hand out to her to lead her onto the floor, his mind circled with thoughts.  He wondered how much longer he had to stay at the reception... he wondered if he truly had to say goodnight to Stefan and Elena when he left... he wondered if he could take any of the women at the reception home with him – for a midnight snack. 

 

And then, Bonnie was in his arms and his brain... switched off.

 

Oh, he was still thinking... he still heard the laughter and the giggles and the murmuring throughout the hall, but, _his brain wasn't running around in circles_.  He wasn't measuring time, or weighing moral conundrums, or fighting his hunger....

 

It was all still moving around in his head, but it was muted and faded... and for the first time that evening - hell for the first time in the past three months, ever since 'the wedding' had been announced and the mad dash for it's preparation had been completed – he was _calm_. 

 

He pulled Bonnie closer, her frame light and soft and utterly feminine against his.  He didn't want to talk, and she seemed, at least at the moment, content to simply move with him.  Within a few seconds he found himself humming - then lightly singing - the words to the old-fashioned standard that floated through the hall.

 

He definitely didn’t want to be here – at his brother's and his ex's wedding - but apparently, the alcohol was kicking in, and 'being here' no longer felt like it was the worst situation he'd ever been in.  He was warm. He was finally tuning Elena and Stefan out.  The music wasn't half bad.  And his partner wasn't stepping on his toes.

 

He looked down at the top of Witchy's head; it was amazing that someone so 'filled with power' could be so light on her feet.  Elena... Elena had **not** been very light on her feet.  He looked across the room just in time to see Stefan and Elena dancing together... and to see Elena step on Stefan's foot. 

 

He grinned darkly; well that's one thing he wouldn't miss.

 

His gaze dropped back down to Bonnie and he inhaled as he studied the artfully messy bun that sat atop her head.  There it was, the cinnamon; his witch always smelled of cinnamon.  There might be a perfume on top of it, or the scent of her almond and lilac shampoo along side of it... but the cinnamon was always there.  Tried and true and utterly Bonnie Bennett.

 

What wasn't 'utterly' Bonnie Bennett was her silence.  They'd been dancing together for approximately three full minutes, and she hadn't spoken a word in that whole time. He didn't think he'd ever 'heard' her be this silent before.  He wondered what she was thinking about.

 

He opened his mouth to see if he could do what he did best, which was rile her up, but she beat him to it -.

 

She backed away from him – _finally tired of being close to him?_ \- her eyes bolted to the floor, “I – I need some air.”

 

And before he could tease her – _finally realized just how 'breath taking' I am?_ \- she was half way out of the hall.

 

“Bonnie?” He didn't yell it, but he wasn't exactly quiet.  _What the hell?_ He  could always, _always_ count on Bennett for a snarky comment, or a sharp word, and she just... just takes off?  He started after her only to find his passage blocked by Blondie.

 

“What did you do to her?!”

 

He rolled his eyes.  “I didn't do anything to her.”

 

Caroline peered at him, looking for his 'I’m lying' tell. She didn't see it. She narrowed her eyes, “So why did she just scamper out of here?”

 

He gave a theatrical sigh and lifted his hand to his heart; pouting, he batted his eyes at Caroline, “She just declared her undying love for me, and I shot her down.”  Clearing his face, he shrugged his shoulders, “I have no Idea why she ran off,” he paused, “Care, she's a fucking witch, who knows what motivates her to do half the things she does?”

 

She continued to intently stare up at him until Tyler called her.  She glanced over his shoulder towards her boyfriend, before looking back at Damon and scrunching her eyes at him, “If you --”

 

“Yeah, yeah I got it – 'Damon hurt Bonnie, Caroline hurt Damon.'  Why don't we both go find someone more entertaining to talk to.”  He pushed past her without waiting for a response and, following the faint scent of cinnamon that lingered in the air, he headed towards the balcony.

 

Stepping out onto the flagstone patio, he zeroed in on Bonnie's figure; her back was to him and she stood with her arms wrapped around her waist, her hands grasping her biceps.  As he moved closer to her he could hear her heartbeat speeding up and he watched her nutmeg skin redden with a flush. Sniffing the air for a threat and sensing none, he wondered, _What the hell has Bonnie so disconcerted?_

 

Pulling to a stop a few feet away from her, he lasciviously teased, “What kind of naughty thoughts are you having out here Bennett?”

 

 


	3. Excuses

He wanted to taste Bonnie Bennett, which, in and of itself, was nothing new.  She was a witch.  He was a vampire.  Her blood was more than sustenance for his kind – It was liquor. 

 

But the 'want' he was currently experiencing was more than your standard 'vampire likes witch blood' want. 

 

It was... he wanted... he wanted to _taste Bonnie Bennett_.  Taste her blood.  To taste her skin. To taste her essence.

 

And his desire to taste her was getting stronger with every passing day. 

 

Shortly after the underwhelming Elena/Stefan wedding, he'd found himself noticing the witch. Noticing when she came to the boardinghouse.  Noticing when he saw her at the Grille.  Hell, he even started noticing when she 'wasn't' around.

 

And as the weeks passed he found himself doing the lamest things when she was near.  He sniffed the air when he entered a room that she was in, searching for a trace of cinnamon.  He watched her – furtively of course - when she moved around the room speaking to Stefan or Elena or Blondie, or whomever... anyone but him.  He watched her and felt his anger rise. Anger that she had the power to make him 'notice' her. 

 

And when he wasn't angry at her?  He was all over her.  During the past week, he'd touched more of Bonnie - kissed her more than he'd ever -  even in his wildest dreams/nightmares – imagined he would.  They were secretive kisses, secretive touches, but they were amazing. 

 

And when they were done kissing and touching they'd – each of them - back away from one another with a mixture of horror and longing and hate and admiration shooting through their veins.   Longing and admiration!  The two of them!!!

 

It was confusing as hell.  

 

If he didn't know better, he'd think he was falling for Bonnie.  But he did know better.  There was no way a vampire would fall for a witch.

 

And more specifically, there was no way in hell that vampire, Damon Salvatore would fall for witch, Bonnie Bennett.

 

What he was experiencing was clearly an aberration.  An overload of hormones brought about by the gutting of his emotions by Elena.  And Katherine.  And every other woman he'd ever attempted to give his heart to.

 

Yeah, he was pretty certain his heart was giving up the ghost and his hormones were just running rampant – attempting to grab on to anything – anyone – in order to make that something – that someone – his.  Basically, his hormones were screaming at his heart: 'Anything is better than nothing.'  _Even if that that 'anything' is Bonnie._

 

Fortunately for him, he wasn't a slave to his hormones....  He looked down at the dark haired, caramel skinned, Bonnie-look alike who lay passed out in the bed.  When she woke up in the morning, she'd be a little sore at the neck, a little sore between her thighs, and feel slightly euphoric – memories of meeting a somewhat faceless, tall, brunette man... sharing some drinks with him at a bar... laughing with him, all fading into a confused, but pleasant swirl.

 

Picking up his jacket, he left the apartment of the woman who's name he'd already forgotten.

 

()

Fifteen minutes later and her blood was still pumping through his system, and he was – physically – warmer for it.  But the closer he moved towards the Boardinghouse, the more his mind began to wander. 

 

Wander towards the source of his angst.

 

...towards Bonnie.

 

Half an hour later and he was still sitting in his car, parked in the driveway of the Boardinghouse, and the hunger that should have been satiated, but wasn't – was eating at him again.

 

He shook his head to clear it of a vision of hazel eyes and nutmeg skin, and a pout... Christ, her lips.... At first, he'd labeled the desire to seduce her as being just an extension of his nature.  He flirted with every woman.  It was who he was.  And historically, flirting with Bonnie meant he was irritating her; pushing her buttons.  Which was always a good thing. So flirting with and seducing her, at least at the start, had felt like a win win situation; he was able to do two of the things that were most natural to him  at the same time: flirt, and annoy a witch.

 

But these days he was thinking that perhaps he was spending so much time with Bonnie - trying to touch her - because he **wanted** her.  'Wanted her' wanted her.   

 

Peeling out of the driveway, he headed to the Grille; headed to where he happened to know a certain witch would be located right about now.

(())  
How someone could go from loathing even being in the same room with someone, to being unable to keep your hands off of that person, Bonnie didn't know.

 

What she did know, however, was that it **could** happen.

 

How did she know?  She knew because it had happened to her; in the past few months she had gone from outright hate of Damon Salvatore, to closeted make-out sessions with him.

 

And here she was, once again, with Damon – tucked in the alley behind the Grille, her back pressed against the brick wall, his body pressed against hers. Their lips attached, their hands... in places they probably - definitely - shouldn't be....

 

He'd come into the pub twenty minutes ago, and even though her back had been to the door, she'd sensed his arrival the moment he entered the building; a bright, sharp tingle curling down her spine at his arrival. 

 

Within minutes he'd settled across from her at her table, a bottle of scotch and two glasses in his hand. 

 

She took the first shot – preemptive defense - “You weren't invited to sit down.”

 

He grinned, “Public place, I don't need an invite.”  He poured two fingers worth of the scotch into a glass and placed it in front of her.

 

She ignored the scotch and took a sip of her soda.  She was rather proud of the fact that her hands weren't shaking even the slightest bit.  Not from fear.  And not from want. _Good girl Bonnie._   She silently patted herself on the back. Maybe she was getting over the illness/attraction to Damon that she had been suffering from. 

 

Of course the fact that she hadn't looked him in the eye since he sat at the table meant nothing.  She wasn't avoiding temptation. 

 

Nope. Not at all.

 

Damon shifted the glass of soda she'd placed back on the table to the side and pushed the scotch closer to her. 

 

“I don't want any sco-” she started to snip at him when he interrupted her.

 

“- use it as an excuse.”

 

In her confusion, she made eye contact – her first mistake of the night.  “An excuse?”

 

He poured his own helping of scotch, lifted his glass to his lips and threw half of it down his throat.

 

She watched his throat move as he swallowed. 

 

And there it was again, that bright, sharp, tingle – right down the center of her spine – only this time it didn't just dull and fade, this time, it settled between her thighs.  She surreptitiously crossed her legs beneath the table.

 

“An excuse for what's going to happen later.” His eyes were locked with hers now.  “When you're in my car and you're trying to tell me to 'stop', but all that's coming out of your mouth is my name.”  He leaned in towards her, “An excuse for when my fingers will be inside of your jeans, between your legs, and my lips are at your neck, and your legs are wrapped around me.” His eyes dropped to the glass in front of her then lifted back up to her face.  “All it takes is one little sip Bonnie.  And then, maybe a second one, and a third one... and then, then it's not your fault.”

 

He sat back and lifted his own glass back up to his lips.  Before swallowing the amber liquid, he sniffed the air.  Alcohol, perfume, food, and the faint scent of Bonnie's arousal.  He threw back the rest of the glass, and reached for the bottle to top it off again. 

 

He didn't smile, didn't smirk, didn't even blink when she picked up the glass he'd placed in front of her and wordlessly drained it.

 

()

 

She only had two glasses of scotch, not enough to get her drunk, not even enough to actually make her tipsy, but it was enough to do the job; enough to make being here - in the alley, in his arms – excusable.

 

As his hand slid underneath her top, she grimaced with the realization that they hadn't even made it to to his car.  He'd  gotten up from the table after his third glass of scotch and headed out the Grille door.  And then she'd sat there at the table, silently arguing with herself about the stupidity of drinking with Damon.  The stupidity of even contemplating getting up and following him out into the night. 

 

It wasn't a long argument.

 

And it was an argument she lost.

 

Or won... depending upon how you looked at it.

 

But in any case, she'd walked out of the Grille, her eyes directed towards the parking lot, looking for Damon's car, when she'd suddenly found herself being jerked off to the side of the building and into the alley.  She opened her mouth to yelp when her frame landed against the wall and then she found herself looking into Damon's face.

 

His smirk was back – firmly in place – and as he leaned in to her he teased, “What the hell took you so long Witchy?”

 

She angled her head up and whispered a short “Shut up and kiss me.”

 

As he lowered his lips to hers, he murmured, “What ever you want Bon Bon.”

 

As she wrapped one of her legs around his thigh she took a small measure of comfort in the knowledge that at least no one else had noticed the madness that she and Damon and sunk into.

Or so she thought.

(())

 

“Seriously, what's up with you two?” Caroline stabbed at the lettuce on her plate and popped a forkful into her mouth.  The two women had met for lunch at the Grille and had been chatting about classes and – of course – Elena and Stefan, when Damon's name came up.

 

“What do you mean?”  Bonnie knew exactly what Caroline meant, but her theory, at the moment, was that denial was her best friend.

 

“Oh please, for the past four months you and Damon have been acting... weird around one another.”

 

She tried for sarcasm, “One - we live in Mystic Falls – when are any of us ever _not_ weird?  Two – we're talking about Damon... he's the king of weird.”

 

Caroline put her fork down and stared at Bonnie, “'The king of weird'?  See, that's it right there, a few months ago and I could have relied  upon you for scathing, witty, to-the-point defamation of Damon's already 'weak' character... and now, all I get is: 'the king of weird'?”  She leaned forward, “Did you guys get your bodies taken over by body snatchers?”

 

“Oh good God!”

 

“Or, oooh! Is it some sort of spell?” She leaned even further across the table.  “Are you and Damon under the spell of some powerful witch... or warlock!?”

 

Bonnie couldn't even count the number of times she herself had this very same thought in the past few weeks but she didn't need Caroline taking off on a half-cocked search for a non-existent warlock.  And yeah, Bonnie was pretty certain as this point that whatever she was experiencing with Damon had nothing to do with magic.  “We've... called a truce with one another; he's Elena's brother in law now, and...and she's one of my best friends. It's better for everyone if we get along.”

 

Air quoting the words as she spoke, Caroline mimicked Bonnie, “'It's better for everyone' if you get along?”  Her stare deepened.  Shaking her head, she picked up her drink and declared.  “Fine, don't tell me what's going on.  But be aware, I _will_ figure it out eventually.”

 

Bonnie smiled and shook her head innocently while inwardly she thought: 'If you figure out what's going on between Damon and I, please, pleeeassse, let me know!'


End file.
